


Domesticity

by starluff



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starluff/pseuds/starluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a lazy day in 221B Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domesticity

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of this [adorable, amazing, and totally flufftastic piece of fanart](http://spicysteweddemon.deviantart.com/#/art/Domesticity-Holmes-and-Watson-86539060?hf=1) I saw on dA. Enjoy and don't forget to comment ;)

The consulting detective is restless.

His latest case was brought to a close just the other day, so he isn't yet in the throws of a Black Mood; nevertheless, there is an unmistakably petulant air to him as he sits in his armchair, with his arms crossed, his leg bouncing, and staring holes into the opposite wall.

Well, he ought to try, of course. He thinks this and sighs, deciding that, perhaps, he really should try to do something and stave off the inevitable black mood for as long as he can manage. An ounce of prevention is worth a thousand cures. Or something.

So he makes his way to where he keeps his chemistry set. It's a shame, really, that he had had to move it from the dining table where he used to put it, but the doctor had been quite adamant on that end: no chemistry items on the dining table. Holmes didn't argue (the doctor was really a reasonable fellow and that had been his only request) but that didn't mean he had to like it. Why, he thought, couldn't he use the dining table for his chemistry? It was big enough for five people to dine on it comfortably, so he didn't see why two bachelors couldn't share the table with some phials and chemicals. But Holmes was a gentleman and he wouldn't go back on his word; he would have to simply make do with his own desk, or whatever horizontal surface he could find that would suffice.

So he plays around with his chemistry set for a bit, making the necessary notes about his findings, and finds himself looking at the clock quite often. Mrs. Hudson will probably ask him if he'd like some luncheon soon; it is around that time for luncheon. Perhaps he will.

After two hours, Holmes has had all he can take of chemistry; he's really not in the mood. He looks at the clock again; not yet. What else is there that he can do? Well, first, he may as well put his chemistry set away, waste time. He does that and then looks around. He spots some newspapers that have been accumulating for some time on the floor. Ah, yes, he had forgotten about those! He wanted to sort through them and organize them. Watson really didn't do him enough justice; his paper _were_ organized, even if neither he nor Mrs. Hudson could see methods. So he goes to his little, tidy corner of papers and begins to take it apart.

It is in such a fashion that he spends the next hour, all the while occasionally glancing at the clock. As the hands come nearer and nearer to the longed-for time, Holmes feels a certain amount of anticipation that builds with every passing minute. He can wait, though; these newspapers have been neglected for too long.

When the clock reaches the time he has been waiting for, he can hardly contain himself. Any moment now... any moment...

There. The sound of something at the door. Holmes is not outwardly effected in any way, though most of his attention is arrested by that fact. The door opens and voices waft up; his eagerness is somewhat satisfied to be proven correctly. What he has been waiting for has come.

Footsteps on the stairs. Almost...

The door opens.

Holmes allows a smile to come momentarily and then go its merry way.

The doctor walks into the living room.

"Hello Holmes," he greets cheerfully as he makes his way across the living room and goes up to his room to change. Holmes remains silent; he is in the middle of an interesting article.

Watson comes down some time later in his dressing gown. He pours himself a glass of port and lights his pipe, then collapses onto the settee, heaving a great sigh of relief and contentment, as only a man who has been out busy all day and can now finally rest at home can heave.

Holmes reads another sentence. Then he gets up, makes his way across the room, and gracefully stretches himself out onto the settee, head resting lightly against Watson, and opens his newspaper, with all the air of someone who has moved to this new place only because it seems more comfortable then the place where he was sitting in prior, thank you very much. Watson glances at him in surprise but doesn't say anything; he is secretly reminded of a cat who has come to sit on his owner because he can.

Mrs. Hudson sees them before they see her and she pauses in the doorway, yet unseen, to take in this scene. Holmes lazily crumples up a page that does not meet his expectations and tosses it to the floor. Watson, with his eyes half-closed, takes a sip. With a smile, Mrs. Hudson retreats back to where she came; the boys don't look like they're going to move anytime soon, not for something as inconsequential as supper, anyway.

The landlady thinks that she's never seen her boys so relaxed before.


End file.
